


A Wild Feeling

by milkhoneytoast



Category: Uprooted - Naomi Novik
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 15:59:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17942783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkhoneytoast/pseuds/milkhoneytoast
Summary: They are headed for the capital for the first time since the Wood broke through the city and came after the crown prince and his family.





	A Wild Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> Needless commas, inaccurate labels of personage, and the purplest of prose were removed thanks to my unnamed friend and beta.

They are headed for the capital for the first time since the Wood broke through the city and came after the crown prince and his family. It’s been a winding journey from the ocean city of Gidna, through small towns and amidst midsummer heat. Kasia rides in the front of the wagon next to the guide they’ve hired; the young king, his sister, and Alosha carried along in the back.

A few weeks ago Sarkan sent a letter saying Kralia would be ready to receive them, the city safe again with most of the Wood-queen’s corrupt relics cleared and the remaining not enough of a threat to continue prolonging Stashek’s return to court. Soon the city would be celebrating Stashek’s grand return to Kralia and, coincidentally, his birthday. Kasia would much rather celebrate Stashek’s birthday like how they’ve celebrated in the past few years -- in his grandparents’ humbler estate with a small gathering of close allies and relatives, the view of the ocean lapping against the Gidna’s golden shores. Stashek and Marisha would be free to play as they liked, and she would be down in the castle’s kitchen, over a hot spit, indifferent to the heat of the fire as she added layer after layer over the sekacz cake.

At the end of his letter, Sarkan wrote that he would be there to greet them on their arrival to the castle, the start of a long-awaited welcome. But when they ride past the castle gates and stop in the courtyard, at the foot of a stately staircase, it’s to Kasia’s deep dissatisfaction to find Solya waiting for them on the steps instead of Sarkan, wearing a dark velvet cape unerringly spotless despite the dust they’ve kicked up with their arrival.

“Where’s Sarkan?” Kasia asks.

Solya lifts one shoulder, shrugging. “Too busy to receive the young king, I suppose. He’s not yet returned from his tower.”

\---

Later, with Stashek and Marisha tucked in and the moon hanging high in the night sky, Kasia finds herself by the window, unable to sleep. Though she and Alosha are here to protect the children, she can’t help but imagine threads of corruption snaking its vines around the castle in the dark of night, renewing its vicious grip. She also worries if there’s a malignant reason for why Sarkan has been delayed – and if her family and Agnieszka are safe.  She’s been looking out the window since dusk, noting the guards’ shift changes and keeping her own watch.

Under the moonlight, movement at the courtyard entrance catches her eyes. A thin hooded figure hurries across clearing, with a few telltale silver leaves from a certain wood shimmering on the shoulders of the robe. _Is it Sarkan?_ Back from the woods?

She changes quickly, out of her nightshift and into a simple tunic and pants. Perhaps Kasia can intercept him and ask if everything is alright in the valley. As she rounds the corner of a pillar, she sees both Alosha and Sarkan deep in conversation, backlit by the lamp in Alosha’s hand. She ducks behind the pillar.

They are arguing about Agnieszka because who else would make Alosha say to Sarkan, “Have facts ceased to enter that thick skull of yours? She’s barely a quarter century old and holding more wild magic than every living wizard in Polyna combined.”

“There were unexpected corrupt walkers on my way out of the woods. She didn’t want –"

“ _She_ may have had the insight to save this kingdom from collapse, but eagerness may blindside the both of you. Far less powerful witches have wreaked havoc because of the souring of first love. I heard from Solya you’ve been gone for over a week now on what was supposed to be a one-day excursion to collect your taxes. What if something had happened here?”

Alosha stands with one hand at her hips, her shadow cast by the lamp on the entryway wall looming over Sarkan.

“Sarkan, how can you be sure that your attraction is one based that on true feelings and not based on the pull of wild magic?”

Kasia understands that pull, how branches would seek out Agnieszka as they played as children in the forest, how mushrooms would suddenly pop through the dirt after Agnieszka’s footsteps, called into being by some earthbound song.

“Your behavior is too reckless, especially since Kralia still needs you here at court and her in the Wood, clearing the rot and strengthening the Yellow Marshes.”

“Alosha, your fear for the stability of Polnya is the same fear I have. Solya and the other court wizards were here in case anything might have happened. I know – I know I prolonged my stay but for reasons that are my own. Please, let me sort out my thoughts in privacy.”

He pauses, looking up at the dark arched ceiling entrance. “But I too wonder if it’s only the pull of wild magic, combined with the strangeness of the Spindle.”

\---

Kasia doesn’t see Sarkan again until several days later, on the morning of Stashek’s birthday celebration. She is training with the newly recruited knights under the early dawn sun, parrying and side-stepping, when she notices him leaving the apothecary stores, a brown cloth bag in hand, heavy with whatever he plans to brew. She excuses herself, dropping her sword by the fence of the practice arena and not bothering to remove her armor to follow after Sarkan.

The last time they spoke was exactly a year ago. He had come to Gidna for the young king’s birthday. They found themselves drinking mead next to one another, after the feast and ballads had concluded. Kasia remembered she had asked about Sarkan’s efforts in the capital, more out of politeness than curiosity. Sarkan gave her a short reply, unwilling to elaborate, and they fell into an uneasy silence until Sarkan spoke up, “How are things in your village?” as if her Lord didn’t know the comings and goings of his own property. “…How is Agnieszka?”

Now she passes under one of the courtyard archways, entering into the old queen’s garden. There’s dew on the unkempt ivy and shrubs and the soft mist of morning time.

“Sarkan.”

He turns around.

Her thoughts have been bubbling underneath her skin, waiting for the chance to correct his half-hearted impressions of her friend.

“Don’t underestimate Nieshka. She will always do what’s right by her heart and isn’t the type to smolder when spurned. Treat as gently as you like, though you need not.”

Kasia turns to leave, not bothering to wait for his reply, but something catches her tongue, a touch of jealousy maybe, and she finds herself saying, “No doubt first love has a certain perfume. In any case, Nieshka seems drawn to you for other reasons than as her first love.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, her heart pricks with shame. She knows Agnieszka is so full of love, spilling over and attracting others who need it as well. Agnieszka was there when Kasia’s mother distanced herself and took on the role of teacher and trainer instead. Agnieszka was always by her side even when they believed their time together was limited. They shared their first kiss after a harvest, behind the gathered bales of hay in the barn next to her house, and they shared many more heated moments later. Sneaking away to the forest after a certain age meant returning flushed with their skirts rumpled and dirty.

The more she thinks about it, the more her stomach churns at the thought of Sarkan being able to touch her, hold her, when she can barely wrap her arms around Nieshka without fear of breaking her bones.

“What do you mean by that?” Sarkan asks.

But she can see Sarkan already understands. His face has darkened, brows furrowed and shoulders tensed.

It puzzles her why Agnieszka adores this man. Sarkan, their frigid Dragon Lord, hidden with his material treasures in an empty tower, cut off from the valley except for one of their village girls cleaning and cooking for him. Sarkan, who smirked at her that very first day in Dvernik – a cat fed on too much cream, assuming that she’d provide more for him purely based on her looks. He was and remains a skinny man, and barely an inch taller than her, with a sharp face, certainly more handsome than Solya – but that’s not saying much.

Before she knows it, she is walking toward him, taking his chin with her hand, and kissing him with a solid press of her lips.

“For Nieshka, for the next time you visit her.”

Sarkan jerks his chin out of her hand.

Kasia isn’t sure what’s gotten into her. She doesn’t mean to cause trouble for Nieshka, but she can’t deny that deep in her heart she doesn’t want to. A fear takes hold of her briefly, a fear that comes less and less frequently. Did they miss a small shadow of corruption in her?

There’s a red imprint of her thumb on his chin, likely to blossom into a bruise later. Sarkan rubs it, and Kasia notes his face has a faint flush.

“You villagers are too much trouble,” Sarkan says, sighing. “I’ve made enough mistakes by now to not underestimate Agnieszka. But I can’t separate what I may have her from a wizard’s natural tendency to lean toward sources of magic―and I’m not sure if it even matters to separate them.”

He gives Kasia a half-smile, which softens his face almost to that of a young man near her age.

“I’m being careful for my own sake as well as hers. After all, do I not have a heart to be treaded on as well?”

\---

That night, for the celebration, Kasia has changed from her armor to golden embroidered linen trousers and a loose blouse, in the practical style she’s adopted from Alosha. She can’t stop thinking about her morning meeting in the garden with Sarkan. He’s somehow changed form in her mind – his half-smile lingering. She feels as if she may have misunderstood him from the start, his coldness a front built up by years of defending their village boundaries.

He is still on her mind when she walks into the ballroom and spots him across the hall, dressed in a rich navy cape lined with small sapphires, and underneath, wearing a pearl-buttoned high-collar shirt. A dragon, indeed, with his taste in clothing.

The bruise of her thumb is gone, whisked away by magic.

The night goes on, through dancers, and speeches, and ever-flowing drinks. Stashek’s grandfather holds court in the very front, the regent recently returned from his border visits. She says her congratulations to Stashek, holding herself back from a hug she would have normally given him in a less ceremonial instance.

All the while, Kasia thinks of Agnieszka touching Sarkan’s lips, perhaps not a week ago, where she herself touched this morning. She thinks of Agnieszka soft and warm against his body, the two of them burrowed in blankets beside a modest hearth during the winter. She hasn’t allowed herself to think of Agnieszka as something physical in a while, her thoughts freed by her encounter with Sarkan.

She drinks each cup as they come by, carried by a swirl of maidservants, but alcohol no longer does anything for her. The court may judge her still by the amount she drinks, but they probably judge her more for the trousers she wears, which have the added benefit of detracting any interested dance partners.

She takes a large swill and lets herself pretend that Sarkan is not currently leaned over the table across the room, in protracted conversation with the regent but instead across from her, extending his hand for a dance.

She imagines that he is not furrowing his brow, but instead his face is playful, like a handsome suitor, like someone she would have considered when she was younger. He could be the prince that would whisk her away from the village, away from her future responsibilities, away from the Dragon and the Wood.

Sarkan would take her by the hand upstairs, rounding the steep winding steps, and lay her on his bed. They’d kiss, both imagining the other as Agnieszka―him too careful with his heart to love Nieshka freely and her too afraid that Nieshka thought her something transfigured beyond a childhood love. Kasia wouldn’t have to worry about harming Sarkan either. She knew he could adjust to her newfound strength, something Agnieszka might forget about.

“A letter from Agnieszka.”

Then Sarkan is actually in front of her, hand held out with a piece of folded parchment, sealed with a plain wax candle.

“Faster than post, but don’t expect this to be a regular habit.”

Kasia takes the letter, hearing the whistle of rustling leaves and the sound of Spindle water over rocks when she touches it.

She’s put off seeing Agnieszka for far too long out of fear that they may no longer fit together. But now that Alosha is recovered enough to stay and defend Kralia, a proper regent is in place with a firm hold of the court, and there are new knights in training, perhaps she can finally regrow her roots in the valley and hold Nieshka’s hands again.

“Sarkan, next time, take me with you to the woods.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
